Perfect
by The Slytherin Songbird
Summary: Seven-year-old Franziska von Karma brings home some less-than-satisfactory grades and is reprimanded harshly by her father. Dismayed, she soon runs into young Miles Edgeworth, and the two have a thoughtful discussion about what it means to live by Manfred von Karma's impossibly strict creed. One-shot. I hope you enjoy!


During the five years in which he had resided in von Karma Manor, fourteen-year-old Miles Edgeworth had slowly but surely arrived at the sound conclusion that the best part of the entire mansion was its library. The entire manor, in all its stark frigidity, spanned several acres across the rolling hillsides of Berlin, and yet it was this sole room that offered him what little solace and comfort he could glean from such a dismal place. He had always been a shameless bookworm of the highest degree, and so even though he would secretly much rather have been back at home, he had to admit that he couldn't help but be tantalized by the wealth of knowledge that such a large reading room held in store for him. It certainly helped that the von Karmas were a family whose interests were vast and varied; though he had often come across several books that pertained to the world of the law, occasionally he found himself drawn to other subjects as well, such as classical music or Renaissance literature.

He always tried his hardest to convince himself that it was the pursuit of information, the sheer aspect of learning itself, which drew him to seek comfort and peace within the shelves stacked high with leather-bound tomes – and on most occasions, he succeeded. Miles was nothing if not an expert in the refined art of concealing one's emotions, even from oneself. However, there were rare moments when, deep in his heart of hearts, he felt the pangs of longing and loneliness winding his chest into tight knots that reminded him from what his fascination with the library truly stemmed. In all honesty, it reminded him of his father. Retrieving a book from one of the towering shelves and curling up on an expensive velvet settee, burying himself in the knowledge it afforded him, brought him back to the days of his childhood, when he and Gregory Edgeworth would spend quiet afternoons reading together at home. Not just mindlessly allowing their eyes to roam over the words, seeing but not seeing all at once, but actually _discussing _the subjects they read about, reveling in their common passion for learning more about the world around them. Gregory had always been there with an open ear, an open heart –

_Yet now he is not, _Miles reminded himself stubbornly, clenching his jaw and making a concerted effort to drive those bittersweet memories to the farthest recesses of his mind, where even he could no longer reach them. _And you are alone. It would not be conducive to dwell upon that which has long passed you by. You are a von Karma now, as you have been for five years. Forget what used to be. Forget it all . . . _

If only he could. To forget Gregory Edgeworth would make living so much easier, would make even something as simple as _breathing _so much easier. And yet, the memories persisted, they plagued him no matter how great his endeavors to stifle them may have been. Though he did a rather impressive job of keeping them blocked out during the day, they returned at night to haunt him. They always returned. Horrific nightmares of groaning elevator cables and hysterical court bailiffs, stern-faced fathers and pounding heartbeats, bullets flying and horrible, chilling screaming. It was a difficult subject, to say the very least, one he tended not to broach unless absolutely necessary; to do so would mean that he would be forced to acknowledge the complicated mass of emotions building itself up more and more within him with every day, and dealing with his grief was something Edgeworth would rather die himself than deal with.

And anyway, what would be the point of analyzing what he had known to exist for the five years after his father's death? Pinpointing the source of his pain seemed a laughably obvious task, and he doubted that it would help to ease the sting in any case. No, for the time being, he was simply content to bury everything deep down, letting it fester like an open, running sore. All the mourning in the world would not bring Gregory Edgeworth back, after all.

Still . . . it was possible that Miles could do something to ensure that his father had not died in vain. Since being taken in by Manfred von Karma, young Edgeworth had discovered that defense attorneys were not all he had originally believed them to be. Perhaps he'd had a romanticized view of their despicable practices due to the fact that his father had been one, but now he knew better. He'd witnessed it in court firsthand as Robert Hammond, that disgusting, selfish man, had allowed a killer to walk free. Not just any killer – Gregory Edgeworth's killer. It was obvious that it was Yogi! It couldn't have been anyone else! Supposedly, his father had even said so himself, from beyond the grave, with the help of that alleged "spirit medium". And yet . . . one insanity plea had managed to sway the entire court. He had never felt quite so betrayed in all his life. And so now he had carved for himself a different path; rather than allow criminals to run away from their heinous acts, he now sought to punish them, to see that they each met a fitting, proper end. Perhaps guilty verdicts could not resurrect Gregory Edgeworth, but they could avenge the fact that his killer was never brought to justice.

_Though, on occasion, I do wonder what Father would have to say about that . . . _

Once again, Edgeworth gave a bitter snarl and drew himself away from those troubling thoughts. Perhaps his father would not be exactly proud of what Miles was doing, but . . . well, he wouldn't understand. Nobody could possibly understand. Despite what it might look like to an outsider, his was a noble cause, he just knew it. And nothing could stop him from ensuring that all criminals were punished to the fullest extent of the law.

Perhaps then his guilt, his pervading sense that perhaps _he_ had slain his father, would finally fade . . .

It was a nagging sensation, a thought that had teased the back of his mind for so long now. No matter how he tried to dismiss the suspicion, it still lingered, and had shown no signs of ceasing so far. The more he mulled over it, the more he was forced to realize that it could indeed be true. If he, his father, and Yogi were the only three in the elevator, and Yogi truly was innocent . . . that only left Miles himself. And he had picked up the pistol – he remembered that much with frightening clarity, though the rest of his memories of that time were foggy at best. _I shot my father. I did it. I shot my father. I—_

"You have my leave to go."

The sudden intrusion upon the silence of the library – a deep voice, speaking in guttural German – gave Miles such an effective start that he actually jumped a bit in his seat, his guilty worries immediately (thankfully) chased away. After a moment, he regained his composure, clearing his throat and returning his gaze pointedly to the book currently propped in his lap. He recognized the voice as that of Manfred von Karma's, and judging by how sternly he was speaking, Edgeworth thought it prudent to draw as little attention to himself as possible.

"Yes, Papa."

The voice which answered Manfred was undoubtedly that of Miles' younger "sister", Franziska, currently age seven. She put up a tremendous, admirable effort to conceal her apprehensions, but even he, from a distance, could hear the strain in her high-pitched voice, the ever-so-slight wobbling that meant she was about to cry over . . . something or other. He hadn't been able to hear the entirety of their conversation, of course, but from what he could tell so far, it certainly wasn't good. His curiosity piqued, he did his best to tune in and pay attention to the rest of their conversation, all the while not daring to lift his eyes from the book.

"Do not disappoint me again."

"I won't. I promise, Papa."

There was another pause, this one considerably lengthier – Edgeworth could only imagine the scrutinizing gaze Manfred must have given to Franziska – and then the sound of retreating footsteps echoed along the narrow hallway. Miles hesitated for a moment, then swallowed past the sudden dryness in his throat, relieved to see that Manfred was nowhere in sight. He was his mentor, of course, and he held a great deal of respect for him, but that certainly did nothing to chase away how plainly, overtly intimidating the man could be. Five years had passed since he'd been officially taken to the mansion, and yet Miles still had trouble adjusting to the drastically different, impossibly strict environment.

Knowing who Manfred von Karma had been to Gregory Edgeworth made the task of adapting to the change all the more difficult. A great deal of time had spanned between now and December 28th, 2001, but the memories of his father's last case were still as fresh in Miles' mind as ever they would be. He remembered watching nervously, anxiously in the court gallery and his father and von Karma had faced off in court, a battle of wits for the ages. And of course, there was no forgetting the fact that his father had actually managed to bring to light the fact that von Karma had tampered with evidence pertaining to the case. True, the man's teachings seemed to make so much sense, but Miles was always careful to approach them with caution; perhaps it would be some time before he was able to accept them entirely.

Even after Manfred von Karma's footsteps had long faded away, Edgeworth still heard somebody else walking about the library. Intrigued, he marked his place in his book and set it down on the divan, rising slowly to his feet. He was seated at the very back of the library, underneath a tall bay window and behind several of the tallest shelves in the room. It was highly likely that whomever it was milling around in the room could not see him from where they stood at the front entrance. Yet, Edgeworth was not too apprehensive about stepping forward to greet this mysterious person; even before he caught sight of them, he had an idea about who it was.

And, as it turned out when he weaved his way around the shelves, making his way to the front of the library, he had been correct all along.

"And just what is it that brings you here . . . Franziska?"

Though she was merely seven years old, Franziska von Karma stood with all the confidence of a woman grown, an indignant, belligerent expression permanently plastered upon her soft, childish features. Her eyes seemed to be constantly narrowed in disgust, her nose turned in the air as though she were smelling something foul. Such was the case at present; the look in her eyes was positively murderous, sharp as daggers as she fixed her unwavering gaze upon him. Her hands rested on her tiny waist, her feet spread apart in a sort of power stance. She was dressed as though she had just returned home from school, still wearing her high-collared, dark blue blazer and matching skirt. For her young age, she looked remarkably well put-together, but Edgeworth had known her long enough to realize that this was a ruse. From the moment he'd met her, she'd been nothing more than a little girl trying in vain to be seen as an adult. It was a familiar trait of hers that somehow managed to be equal parts amusing and incredibly obnoxious.

"That is none of your business, Miles Edgeworth!" she snapped in response to his question, her cheeks flooded with crimson. Though, initially, he supposed that the red set to her facial features might have been due in part to her usual anger with him, he couldn't help but detect a trace of something else in her tone that may have been the actual source. _Embarrassment, _perhaps? "The same question could be asked of you. What are you doing messing around in my papa's library?"

Her eagerness to avoid his question only further encouraged his suspicion. He arched a dark eyebrow and studied her as watchfully and thoughtfully as ever, picking up on things now that he hadn't noticed seconds earlier. For example, though there were no tears on her face or tracks from where they may have been earlier, he could see that her gray-green eyes were washed with red, as though she were on the verge of a crying spell. (And though she hated to admit it, she _was_ prone to those – particularly when things did not go precisely her way, he'd noticed.) Still, this struck him as the slightest bit odd; nothing particularly noteworthy had happened concerning Franziska today. In fact, when he had encountered her at breakfast this morning, she had seemed almost amiable, if indeed such a thing were even possible for her.

Perhaps this had something to do with the conversation he had inadvertently overheard just now, involving herself and her father . . . ?

For now, though, he didn't dare press the issue. If he knew Franziska as well as he thought – and he did – then there was no reason to rush things. Whether she liked it or not, she always came around and spilled the truth eventually. It was too difficult a task for her to keep her mouth shut, after all, particularly when she felt slighted by anything. Her outspoken nature was what best marked her as a von Karma, even more so than her never-ending quest for perfection.

Edgeworth sighed, exasperated with her shoddy reasoning. "I am your father's pupil," he said, the barest traces of self-importance finding their way almost unwittingly into his voice, "and this is my current place of residence. Therefore, I have every bit as much a right to utilize these facilities as you or Mr. von Karma."

Franziska pursed her lips, seemingly unimpressed with his argument. No surprises there. "You have such a bad habit of making yourself sound more important than you actually are, little brother," she chastised, extraordinarily sanctimonious for a seven-year-old. A smirk curled into place at the corners of her mouth, completing the perpetually smug image she so liked to create for herself. "If what you say is true and you feel that you have every right to be here, why on Earth were you sneaking around in the back of the room like some common layabout? Why feel the need to hide where you think you are welcome?"

_Because I was under the impression that it was the only area in this entire godforsaken building in which I might be granted some respite from your constant badgering_, Miles thought spitefully, making a valiant effort to keep a sour grimace off his features. _Apparently, I was sorely mistaken._

Rather than reveal the thought that had just flickered through his mind, Miles allowed a particularly condescending smirk to grace his pallid features, folding his arms neatly across his chest. "Well, well. Franziska von Karma has deigned to concern herself with _my_ motivations? This is a tremendous honor indeed. What might I have possibly done to warrant such passionate interest from you, dearest sister?" He knew entirely well that nothing infuriated Franziska so much as being mocked, and if she wished to rouse his ire, then he only thought it right to repay the favor.

"Don't you dare take that tone with me, Miles Edgeworth!" she fired back, clenching her tiny hands into fists and raising them at level with her chest. "Or . . . or I'll tell Papa on you!"

_Oh, be my guest, _he couldn't help but recklessly think, too pleased with himself at the moment to care as much about the threat as he knew he ought. _Even if you should make good on those claims, the look on your face right now is well worth any punishment I might receive for inciting your wrath._

Still, Miles held his hands up with an air of complacency, sighing and giving the slightest shake of his head. "Alright, alright," he said at last in an attempt to appease the girl, knowing better than to push her too far and risk provoking her father, as well. Still, neither the smirk on his face nor the amused glint in his eyes faded in the slightest as he explained, "If you _must _know, I came here to complete some homework of my own. Seeing as my assignment was to complete a paper which required a significant amount of research, I could think of no better place to aid in my studies than our own library."

"Hm . . ." Franziska seemed to mull over this for several seconds, crossing her arms and closing her eyes. When at last she seemed satisfied with his explanation, she opened her eyes once again, heaved a dramatic sigh, and cried, "How frightfully boring, little brother! Can you be depended upon for _nothing_?! Not even _one _good story?!" As if to punctuate her sentence, she balled her right hand into a fist and gave his upper arm a solid punch.

"Ack!" he gasped, stumbling a bit from the force of impact. He had to admit, he was mildly surprised by how much that had hurt, especially coming from someone of her petite stature. "Y-Yes, well, I'm so _terribly _sorry that you were left so unmoved by a completely factual confession – which _you _asked for to begin with, I might add!" he sputtered indignantly. "I do not exist for the sole purpose of your amusement, however difficult that may be to comprehend!"

Still daring to appear affronted by this, Franziska cocked her head to the side and stuck her nose imperiously into the air. "Hmph," she sniffed, "indeed. Good thing, too, because you're rather terrible at it."

Edgeworth narrowed his eyes, but said nothing. Despite what she might believe, he was on to her. Both of them knew completely well that she cared little for what he was doing in the library; it was simply a desperate ploy on her part, a feeble attempt to direct his attention away from her activities and focus instead on her needling little comments. For her to go to such tremendous efforts to distract him could only mean that whatever she was hiding was important, and while Miles normally would not at all be interested in the affairs of a seven-year-old girl, he had to admit that these circumstances certainly came with their own level of intrigue. As he'd thought earlier, it was very much unlike her to withhold information, particularly concerning her feelings, leading him to wonder what could possibly be bothering her so.

Not that he would know what to do about it when he found out; he'd always been terrible when it came to dealing with emotions.

"Be that as it may," Miles said at last, pointing his index finger towards her to emphasize his statement, "it would seem that you still have yet to answer my previous question, Franziska."

Annoyed, but obviously aware that he was correct, she replied almost immediately with, "Bah! Now which of us is the nosey one, hm?"

Rather than answer her directly, however, Edgeworth simply shrugged and said with an air of cool indifference, "Tell me or don't – the choice is yours, and ultimately, no concern of mine either way."

Now all that was left to do was to wait for her reaction. He had lived with Franziska long enough by now to become well-versed in the way she operated, and he knew that his unresponsiveness in regards to her constant dodging of his question would secretly drive her insane. He knew just from looking at her that she did wish to tell him – she just wished to do it on her own terms. She'd always been the sort who loved nothing more than to play with people before giving in to their requests. That much, he expected, she had picked up from her father, who seemed remarkably adept in the art of manipulating a room. Still, what she had failed to anticipate was that Miles, too, was studying under Manfred von Karma, and as a result, had picked up on his tricks just as well – most likely even _better_, considering the seven-year age gap between them.

Naturally, it seemed that his momentary act of duplicity had worked. Franziska, who had briefly paced away from him during the short span of silence, now rounded on him, eyes wide and bright with frustration. "Now, you listen here, Miles Edgeworth! The only reason that I'm here at all is because Papa wished to speak with me in private! When he made the request, I'm sure he had no idea _you _would be snooping about in his reading room!"

_Hm . . . so that's what that was all about_, he mused to himself, his studious gaze never wavering from his younger 'sister'. _I had figured as much. How curious . . . he certainly didn't seem too pleased with her when they were speaking with one another earlier. I wonder what could have happened . . ._

Thankfully, she didn't seem to notice that he had tricked her into giving him information, and therefore seemed much more receptive to telling him her business now. Trying his luck, Miles raised his eyebrows and asked, "Oh? In regards to what? As I recall, your father has been rather busy with an upcoming trial of late. I should think that he would only take the time to momentarily concern himself with anything other than his work if the matter happened to be quite serious. Even if it did involve his beloved daughter."

A flicker of sudden apprehension flashed in her eyes. "Hmph! W-Wouldn't you like to know, little brother!" she replied, employing her usual snide attitude in an attempt to cover up her secret. Perhaps he had underestimated her mental acuity; though she was but little, she seemed to be catching on to his trick much more quickly than he had originally anticipated.

Apparently not quickly _enough_, however. Miles simply allowed the smirk on his face to widen as he answered, "Not particularly," still as confident in his act of feigned unconcern as ever. As he had suspected from the get-go, this seemed to work just as well as his initial dismissive attitude, causing the young girl to grit her teeth and actually go as far as to stomp her left foot, for the first time actually acting her age.

"F-Fine! My grades, Miles Edgeworth!" she grumbled at last, though she looked none too pleased about it. He furrowed his eyebrows, tilting his head slightly to the side in a request for clarification on her part, eliciting a world-weary sigh from the little girl. With a rather histrionic roll of her eyes, she elaborated by saying, "Papa wanted to speak with me about my grades."

"Hm," said Edgeworth mildly. "I see."

"For you see . . . m-my grades were perfect this semester! As usual! And he wanted to congratulate me for such hard work," she further explained, striking a haughty pose, returning her hands to her hips once again.

She seemed satisfied enough with her explanation, and yet . . . something about that still seemed vaguely _off _to Miles. He thought back to the conversation between the two of them that he had listened to earlier, and the tone of voice that Manfred von Karma had taken when addressing his daughter. He hadn't appeared to be the least bit pleased or congratulatory in regards to whatever it was that she'd done; her grades, presumably, were so wonderful, and yet, he'd said something about being disappointed in her. If Franziska thought she could get away with this convoluted, horrifically flawed line of logic, then she was seriously mistaken.

"_**Objection!**_"

Before he had even allowed himself time to think too deeply on it, the word had fallen from his lips, and now he found himself standing with his index finger jabbed accusingly in Franziska's direction, a determined set to his features that was always present whenever he was thinking particularly hard about something. The younger prosecutor-to-be seemed less than amused with Edgeworth's antics; she sent him a disapproving frown, an unmistakable fire in her eyes that meant, whether he liked it or not, she was prepared to put up a fight.

"Put that finger down right now, Miles Edgeworth," she all but commanded, as if _he_ were the younger of the two. "This is not a court of law! You have no business objecting and accusing me all over the place, as if I'm a witness in some trial!"

After a beat of silence, he cleared his throat and offered a jerky little nod, conceding and slowly lowering his finger. _Nngh . . . perhaps shouting 'Objection' was a bit too melodramatic of me, given the circumstances, _he thought, an embarrassed tinge of red coloring his cheeks. _Still! She is shamelessly lying through her teeth, and I am more than capable of proving it! _

"In _any_ case," Miles amended, aiming his gray-eyed gaze pointedly in her direction, "I should hope you would not think me so foolish as to accept that load of crock you just concocted for me as a legitimate explanation of what happened between you and your father." As he concluded his sentence, he could see the indignation rising to the surface on Franziska's face, and yet his expression remained as stern and unyielding as ever.

"A-And just what is _that _supposed to mean, little brother . . . ?!"

"It means precisely what I just said, Franziska," Edgeworth responded without missing a beat. "Perhaps it has already escaped your memory, but I _did _happen to overhear a portion of your conversation with Mr. von Karma. And I know for a fact that congratulating you was the very least of his intentions."

"I . . . I don't think that I–"

But Miles would have none of her protests. "I don't doubt that he did wish to discuss your grades with you," he cut in, watching her carefully as he did so. "However . . . I have trouble believing your claim that your talk with your father was a pleasant one. As I understand it, he instructed you not to disappoint him again, isn't that correct?" Without waiting for her to answer, he pressed on. "Which leads me to believe that perhaps your grades were rather unsatisfactory this time around – by his standards, at the very least."

This only seemed to anger her even further. And yet, the glossy redness had returned to her eyes once again, more pronounced by the second. She clenched her fists at her sides, her shoulders immediately tensing; such a defensive stance gave away the truth almost instantly. He was right, just as he'd known all along. And now it made so much more sense to him why she would want to keep that fact hidden. Franziska was quite possibly the most prideful human being he had ever met, even at seven years old, and even worse than that, she was incredibly competitive. Ever since Edgeworth had come to live at von Karma Manor, she'd all but made it her life's goal to ensure that she was better at everything than he. Having to admit not just to her father, but to Miles himself that she'd done poorly at anything was a fate worse than even death, in her mind.

"That's enough out of you, Miles Edgeworth!" she hissed when at last she could find the words. "Leave me be! I already told you it was none of your business!" With that, she turned on her heel and stalked briskly to the opposite end of the library; he watched her, mildly amused, until she turned left behind a tall bookshelf, and when he heard her plop into the velvet cushions of the couch in which he'd been seated previously, he shook his head to himself and went on his way, returning his attention to the bookshelves before him.

At first, Miles had every intention of taking Franziska up on her most generous offer. After all, she was simply the child with which he shared this mansion, a fellow student under Manfred von Karma, nothing more. Why should her woes be significant to him, when he had never even asked to be introduced to her in the first place? He had never requested to be sent to Berlin, away from everything he'd ever known and loved, away from comfort and familiarity, from home. And yet, here he was; he was by no means obligated to babysit this little holy terror just because her father had taken him in. He had work of his own to finish, after all, and couldn't bother to concern himself with what she believed to be her troubles.

Still . . . even he was not so immune to human emotions as to remain completely stalwart when he heard her begin to sniffle. True, Miles had always been a bit of a stick-in-the-mud, but he was no robot. Though he did not deal well with emotions, he was not entirely without empathy. This place was cold and severe enough to turn even the most expressive being into a closed-up block of ice, but even so, he couldn't completely ignore her plight. (Much as he would have liked to.) He _did _have a conscience, and the more he thought about it, the more he supposed that ignoring a seven-year-old girl while she cried alone was a bit harsh, even by his standards.

Eventually, Edgeworth heaved a sigh, rolling his eyes and stepping away from the bookshelf. He pushed the book he had been retrieving back into its proper place on the ledge, making his way over to where Franziska was sitting. _I suppose I'll see what I can do, though I doubt if I will be of any benefit to her._

Sure enough, when he drew close enough, he could see that the little girl was curled up on the sofa, her face buried in her hands. The book that he'd set down earlier was still there beside her, though it seemed she had opened it and had attempted to read its contents for herself. Her shoulders trembled, and though she made no sobbing noises, he could tell fairly quickly that she was crying. He shifted awkwardly where he stood, lifting his hand to briefly scratch the back of his neck. Where on Earth did he begin . . . ?

"Er . . . Franziska," he started, in a slightly stilted tone of voice. Clearing his throat, he continued, a bit more confidently now, "Whatever it is that you've done, to be sure it cannot possibly be _so _bad. A minor setback, at the very least."

This, as he had anticipated, seemed to have very little effect on her mood, overall. She sniffled, lowering her hands from her face; now he could see, plain as day, the tear tracks making their way down the curves of her cheeks. As if just noticing that he was looking at her, Franziska flinched and raised a hand to deftly wipe away the remaining tears brimming in her eyes and rolling down her face. When she felt that she no longer looked a weakling, she lifted her head once again, squared her shoulders, and turned to look him directly in the eye.

"To be perfect in every way," she mumbled, her voice thick from crying. "That is the creed of a von Karma. I have always tried my hardest, b-but . . . but I . . ." her lower lip trembled, and when tears threatened to spill over again, she mashed the heels of her hands into her eyes, whimpering and shaking her head in disgrace.

Edgeworth had to admit, though this girl was not at all his favorite person, even he felt the slightest pangs of pity when he realized just how miserable she looked. Her father certainly was a stern individual – to put it lightly – and if Miles often felt the pressure of Manfred von Karma's impossibly high standards, he could only imagine how the man's own daughter must feel. It wasn't something that he took into consideration too terribly often; he frequently wrapped himself up so deeply in his own work that he became hopelessly oblivious to the feelings of those around him.

Though it pained him to think about it, he couldn't help but wonder what his father would say under the current circumstances. Miles had always been a gifted student, and had never really brought home a truly disappointing grade; even in the event that he had, he doubted if his father would have scolded him so badly that it made him _cry_. He would have made his opinions known, of course, and instructed his son to do better, but something told Miles that Gregory Edgeworth would have been understanding and empathic, no matter what. He'd been a rare type of man, one who was equal parts intelligent, firm and gentle. It seemed an impossible combination, and yet . . . he'd undoubtedly had it.

"Hm . . . yes, well . . . failures, painful though they may be, are a fact of life, I imagine." Miles edged closer to her now, even daring to sink down beside her onto the couch, moving the book out of the way as he did so. He swept over her with a quiet, observant gaze for a moment before musing, half to himself, "So long as you have made your greatest effort, I suspect there's very little else that you _can _do. And I very seriously doubt that there is a person, living or otherwise, who can claim that they have achieved complete and total perfection without any struggle whatsoever. Ergo, you needn't concern yourself with it too greatly." He glanced around somewhat awkwardly at the end of his sentence, wondering if he'd said the right thing. He'd never been good at motivating or encouraging others, only himself. He often had trouble relating to how other people thought.

Still, a rueful little smile twitched into place on Franziska von Karma's features. Perhaps he had managed to quell her marred feelings, at least for the time being. Though she did appear to be feeling a bit better, she still shook her head. "That's easy for you to say," she said, her voice shaking a bit. "You are not Manfred von Karma's daughter. You have no idea what it feels like to have to live up to his name, to prove myself worthy of being his child!"

Edgeworth sighed, nodding slowly. "Yes, I suppose you're right," he conceded. "I don't. However . . . I am _well _aware of what it feels like to set unrealistic goals for oneself, only to see those ambitions slide away like sand between your fingers." He glanced away from her and gripped the crook of his elbow, a pained, bitter look making its way onto his features for a moment or two. He was, of course, referencing to the stint in his life when he wished to become a defense attorney; he'd thought that was all he ever wanted, but following the death of his father, he'd slowly come to the painful realization that this was no longer the case. "And I can certainly testify to the effect that if you continue to set such unattainable standards for yourself, you will only ever fail. Honestly, Franziska, if you wish to hear _my_ opinion on the subject, you do a fine job proving yourself worthy to be a von Karma already. It's hardly an area of your life with which you ought to be concerned."

"I . . . I don't believe you," she replied stubbornly, a guarded, wary look in her eyes. "I-I'm nothing but a failure!"

Edgeworth clenched his fists for a moment, but sighed and did his best to chase away his frustrations with the girl. _Alright_, he thought, _since she seems so keen to rebuff my words, perhaps I'll try this from a different approach._

A smirk meandered onto his sharp features. "Very well," said Miles, back to his usual haughty self. "I suppose I ought to take that as an admission of defeat, then."

This, as he'd suspected, immediately caught Franziska's attention. "Wh-what?" she stammered, perking up instantly.

"Seeing as you are so terribly eager to brand yourself a failure, it seems that I no longer have a formidable rival," Edgeworth explained, extending his arms, shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders. When he looked back up at her once again, the smirk on his face only seemed wider and smarmier than before. "Ah, well. So it goes. I always knew I didn't have to worry about competition where you were concerned, Franziska von Karma. It looks like I win."

Such brazen statements obviously did not sit well with the young would-be prosecutor. If there was anything she hated quite so much as feeling like a failure, it was seeing Edgeworth act as if he'd already 'won' the contest she had invented for the two of them. More often than not, he played along with her competitive streak, not truly taking it seriously but finding it humorous how dedicated she was to the cause. And now, it seemed a much preferable alternative to seeing her cry.

"Grr . . . you shut your foolish mouth, you foolish foolhardy fool of a fool!" Franziska cried, jumping up from the couch and wheeling around to face him. "I'll have you know that I haven't given up anything yet! You won't beat me – I swear it!"

"Oh?" replied Edgeworth, unable to disguise the amusement on his face by this point. _Everything is working just as I predicted. _"Is that right?"

"Yes! Ooh, just you wait, Miles Edgeworth. One day you'll see – I'll make you sorry you ever doubted Franziska von Karma, prosecuting prodigy!"

Without so much as another glance in his direction, she gave a determined little huff and spun around, storming off in the opposite direction. At the very least, she seemed to be in a much better mood at this juncture. _Well, now rather than sitting around and sobbing to herself, she'll be even more determined to somehow best me in this ridiculous game of hers_, he thought, shaking his head with vexation.

And yet . . . slowly, Miles Edgeworth was beginning to realize that he wouldn't have it any other way.


End file.
